by Kevin Patel
Artesia, Calif.
Despite how wrong they all were, I liked them all very much, these Buddhists who gathered just down the block. In fact, I was stumped by just how good I felt, here in my neighbor’s home. Having suffered so long on my own so nearby, I was surprised that these folks—folks I’d just met—could lift such a weight from my shoulders.
Our disagreement had been about desires. Desires, they’d insisted, could be good for my growth, to which I’d thought, Name one. For years, routine cravings—for a cupcake, for instance—had brought me only pain. A Type 1 diabetic, I’d lost countless nights of sleep to the hypertension brought on by any slip in diet.
Herman Hesse’s Siddhartha convinced me that desires caused suffering, and I’d determined to eliminate mine—for cupcakes, a girlfriend, a career. And yet I was here, one neighbor observed—here at this gathering of Buddhists. Didn’t that speak, he wanted to know, to a desire I had to be happy? I left feeling slightly annoyed and lighter than I had in years.
As I began to chant, I started to see there were things I did want—wanted so badly it hurt. My health, for instance, and a community. I wanted to be like Hesse’s Siddhartha—confident and indomitably kind. Before any dramatic change in character, however, I noted first the more conspicuous protections and benefits of faith: getting in, all expenses paid, to the 2025 NBA All-Star Game; narrowly avoiding a major car accident; and, that spring, landing my current job as a math tutor at a local college.
I felt like I was tuning my life to the frequency of compassion in the universe. The staff at my new job were welcoming, and the students dedicated. One, in particular, inspired me, a young man named Alex who fought hard in his studies. When I crossed paths with him over the summer, I asked him whether he’d heard of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo. Interested, he began joining me at SGI activities. Making many causes at this time, accepting district leadership, supporting as Soka Group behind the scenes at my Buddhist center and widely sharing about Nam-myoho-renge-kyo—I felt immune to negativity, even the quite powerful negativity being battled by my family at home. My Buddhist practice was my armor, but that summer, for the first time, it cracked.
Coming home from a Soka Group shift, I got bad-mouthed the moment I opened the door. This time, it stung, and from here on, I began doubting there was any true merit to Buddhism. If there was, how could I be viewed, after all my attempts at peace, as the enemy? A deep pessimism took root in my life, casting all things in their worst light. This made me want to give up on everything, including my faith.
Thankfully, there was a person I could speak to. I called a friend in faith, one of the men who’d supported me in the early days of my practice. He reminded me of a warning in Nichiren Daishonin’s writings: “[As practice progresses and understanding grows], the three obstacles and four devils emerge in confusing form, vying with one another to interfere” (“The Opening of the Eyes,” The Writings of Nichiren Daishonin, vol. 1, p. 281). Simply put, progress means difficulty, especially in faith. Struck by this passage, I turned to others, opening on my own for the first time Nichiren’s writings. There I found the passage, “[E]ven though you chant and believe in Myoho-renge-kyo, if you think the Law is outside yourself, you are embracing not the Mystic Law but an inferior teaching” (“On Attaining Buddhahood in This Lifetime,” WND-1, 3).
As I read, I realized that, for all my efforts, I could not see that my life is Nam-myoho-renge-kyo—that I have the power to positively transform any situation. It was one thing to read this, though, and quite another to actually believe it. Thankfully, I had my brothers in faith.
Once a week, we got together—the young men of La Puente Region—at the home of the zone young men’s leader to talk, chant, study, eat homemade Korean fried chicken and gather round the TV to play this inexplicably addictive detective game—Nancy Drew: Ghost of Thornton Hall. Phenomenal game, but not one any of us would’ve played alone. No, it was the guys who made it worth it, whose company lifted the weight from my shoulders. They helped me see beyond my own suffering and, though suffering still, extend myself for the sake of a friend.
The next time I saw Alex, I invited him to that week’s hang. As small a gesture as it was, it nonetheless took an all-out effort to make. Enormous effort is required, says Ikeda Sensei, to “break the hard shell of the lesser self” (My Dear Friends in America, fourth edition, p. 218). Alex joined in and began to articulate, chant and take action toward his goals, reminding me of the impact my actions can have. Advancing together, I began to believe I could change my situation at home. But home did not change overnight.
In August, during a tense exchange at home, it was suggested, provocatively, that I see a therapist. I’d just finished morning gongyo. I took a breath, turned the suggestion over in my mind and admitted it wasn’t bad. “You might be right,” I said, and stepped outside for my morning run.
I began seeing a therapist, who gave me practical advice to battle negative thoughts. A wise, perceptive person, she remarked one day: “It sounds like you want to help people.” This, I realized, was likely my strongest desire, one I should pursue with all my heart.
October was a breakthrough month, in which I made strides in my mental health, attended my first conference at the Florida Nature and Culture Center and returned home fired up to positively influence my environment. That week, my friend Alex received the Gohonzon.
November saw further breakthroughs. In front of the Gohonzon, I decided: We must have peace in our family. Bringing forth courage, I took action—most often in small, mundane ways, like knocking on my sister’s door on my way out to say, “Hey, I’m heading out!” Or parking my car on the curb to leave room for her in the driveway. Small gestures, but ones that nudged open the door to dialogue. My mom, encouraged by the changes she saw, began joining me in the mornings to chant. She began attending SGI meetings with me, supporting me while I supported behind the scenes. Come Thanksgiving, we did the impossible: coming together around the table as a family.
Today, everyone has started to win. My friend Alex chants regularly and is winning in school—his next goal is to get a great job. My family is whole, and I’m happy about the brother and son I’ve become. My health, too, is better than ever and doesn’t keep me from pursuing what I love—art, leadership, marathon running and a career in physical therapy.
Desires are good if we know how to use them—for the happiness of ourselves and others.
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